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1918 

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Mrs.  Phoebe  A.  Hearst 


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U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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IOCS    ' 


LAURELS 


LAURA   PAYNE   EMERSON 


LAURELS 


By  LAURA  PAYNE  EMERSON 


•; 


SAN  DIEGO,  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright  by 
LAURA  B.  PAYNE 


MEMORIAM 


FJW1 

CONTENTS 


Appeal  to  the  Proletariat,  An 66-67 

As  It  Shall  Be 52-53 

Baby  Donald   62 

Bolsheviki,  The    40-41 

Cosmic  Consciousness 13 

Country  School,  The 60-61 

Dawn  in  the  East,  The 38  to  40 

Death  in  the  Cottage,  The 48  to  50 

Gertrude  and  Geraldine 16-17 

Hobo,  The  56  to  58 

Industrial  Workers  of  the  World,  The 56  to  59 

I  Am  37 

In  the  Valley  of  Shadows 13  to  15 

Liberty   . . . . 15-16 

Lines  to  Lena 68 

Love , . . ; 29  to31 

Meditation    ......... . ......... ... ,,.. 32-33 

Memories  and   Hope 17  to  19 

My  Castle 31-32 

My  Church  63 

My  Floweret   65-66 

Never  Alone   64-65 

Picture  of  Farm  Life,  A 26  to  29 

Restitution  and  Retribution 44  to  46 

Robbie  and  Jim 19  to  23 

School  Memories  63-64 

Soul  Knoweth  Its  Own,  The 23  to  25 

Today    9-10 

To  Gertrude 34-35 

To  You   11-12 

Trusting    35-36 

Vision,  A 41  to  43 

Voice  of  the  Soul,  The 66-67 

Wayfarer's  Query,  The 25-26 

What  the  Angels  Saw 53  to  56 

Woman's  Prayer,  A 50  to  52 

White  Rose   ."  68-69 


•'1188 


Kindly  dedicated  to  all  those 
who  toil,  and  those  who  think 


MY  VIEWS  ON  THE  WAR. 


As  we  go  to  press  on  this  little  volume,  the  great 
world  war  is  raging.  It  is  March  27,  1918,  the  sev 
enth  day  of  the  great  German  drive  on  the  west 
front  and  the  outcome  is  still  uncertain.  I  do  not 
offer  the  following  as  a  prophecy,  but  as  my  friends 
have  requested  me  to  give  my  opinion  on  the  great 
war  I  make  the  following  statement  as  to  my  be 
lief  about  things  as  they  now  are.  Of  course  time 
will  tell  whether  I  am  right. 

I  believe  this  war  had  to  be.  Conditions  and 
forces  leading  up  to  it  which  cannot  be  explained 
here,  made  it  imperative.  I  believe  the  Germans 
will  finally  be  overwhelmed  and  utterly  defeated, 
not  altogether  by  the  Allied  nations  now  opposing 
them,  but  by  the  Russian  proletariat,  also. 

The  action  of  the  Germans  in  invading  Russia, 
and  her  apparent  determination  to  re-establish  the 
old  order  has  shown  the  Bolsheviki  that  they  must 
fight  to  uphold  their  revolution. 

It  may  be  said  that  all  capitalist  countries  would 
be  glad  to  see  the  Russian  working  class  regime 
overthrown,  and  that  Germany  is  no  worse  than 
any  of  the  others  would  be  if  the  opportunity  were 
afforded  them  as  it  was  Germany.  Perhaps  that 
is  so,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  President  Wilson 
refused  to  sanction  a  Japanese  intervention  in  Si- 


beria,  and  has  offered  to  aid  Russia  in  any  way 
possible.  No  doubt  his  attitude  on  this  question 
prevented  the  Japanese  Government  from  laying 
hands  on  iSiberia. 

I  believe  that  the  rise  of  the  proletariat  of  Russia, 
and  the  part  they  are  destined  to  play  in  this  great 
struggle  are  but  the  beginning  of  the  world  revolu 
tion  which  will  follow  this  war  or  perhaps  end  it. 

While  I  am  an  internationalist  I  do  not  think  it 
best  to  oppose  this  country  in  its  war  program.  In 
fact,  I  believe  that  to  help  it  will  hasten  the  time 
for  which  we  long,  the  day  of  industrial  freedom. 

LAURA  PAYNE  EMERSON. 


Miscellaneous  Poems 


TODAY. 


Be  happy  today  while  the  sky  is  bright, 

And  the  birds  are  singing  with  cheerful  delight. 

Let  the  smiles  of  contentment  your  face  adorn, 

For  the  world  is  too  full  of  the  sad  and  forlorn. 

Let  songs  of  rejoicing  pour  forth  from  your  soul, 

And  symphonies  grand  ever  heavenward  roll. 

Chant  not  a  dirge  as  you  journey  along, 

But  make  the  world  ring  with  life's  beautiful  song. 

Be  generous  today  with  your  love  and  gold, 
While  the  suffering  millions  of  young  and  old, 
Are  reaching  their  eager  hands  for  bread, 
And  sighing  for  words  that  are  never  said — 
Words  of  affection  and  sweet  tenderness, 
Touches  of  hands  in  the  gentle  caress. 
Give,  oh,  give  freely,  these  gems  of  great  worth, 
Of  which  this  old  world  has  had  so  much  dearth. 

Be  gentle  today  with  the  wayworn  and  sad, 
Who,  footsore  and  weary,  hungry  and  half-clad, 
Come  timidly  knocking  upon  your  back  door, 
Begging  even  the  crumbs  from  your  dining-room  floor. 
Remember  they're  human,  they  suffer  and  feel 
Pangs  which  perhaps  they  now  seek  to  conceal. 

Grieve  not  for  the  heathen  in  far  away  lands, 

9 


Among  China's  millions  or  on  Afric's  hot  sands; 
But  in  sympathy  sweet,  oh,  list  to  the  plaint 
Of  the  one  at  your  door,  be  he  sinner  or  saint, 
And  do  not  withhold  the  crust  nor  the  cup, 
But  bid  him  come  in  to  rest  and  to  sup. 

Be  hopeful  today  for  the  final  success 

Of  the  good  in  the  world  to  conquer  distress ; 

For  if  it  be  true  that  our  thought's  are  things, 

Then  let  them  bear  out  on  their  snowy  white  wings 

Rich  burdens  of  love  and  hope  and  delight, 

That  will  bring  back  the  fruit  on  their  homeward  flight 

To  brighten  earth's  hills  and  desolate  plains 

And  fill  all  the  land  with  love's  peaceful  refrains. 

Then  let  us  be  happy  today  and  try 

To  live  for  the  now,  not  the  bye  and  bye. 

For  if  in  life's  drama  we  act  our  part  well, 

We  need  have  no  fears  of  the  torments  of  hell. 

Today  is  the  day  of  salvation,  oh  friend, 

The  day  to  do  right,  the  day  to  amend. 

The  day  to  find  heaven  about  you  lying, 

To  know  that  you're  saved  without  waiting  or  dying. 

The  day  to  commune  with  the  saints  over  there, 

The  day  you  may  realize  answer  to  prayer, 

The  great  day  of  judgment  when  sentence  is  passed 

And  the  sheep  and  the  goats  appear  in  contrast; 

The  day  that  the  soul  may  find  happy  release 

And  rejoice  in  a  heaven  of  infinite  peace, 

By  casting  out  sorrow,  Satan  and  sin, 

And  bidding  pure  love  rule  the  kingdom  within. 

10 


TO  YOU. 


You  do  not  love  me?    Well,  then,  perhaps 

It  is  because  you  do  not  know  me. 

Whoever  you  are,  wherever  you  may  be, 

If  you  could  stand  beside  me  this  day 

And,  looking  in  upon  my  brain 

Read  there  the  lofty  sentiments  and  grand 

That  forever  formulate  themselves 

Into  messages  of  love,  and  hope,  and  praise 

That  flash  like  living  fire  along  the  wires 

Of  my  being  for  every  living  thing, 

You  would  understand  and  love  me. 

If  you  could  sit  beside  me  today 

As  I  ponder  the  woes  of  the  world, 

And,  turning  the  tablets  of  my  heart 

Read  thereon  the  sorrow,  the  yearning, 

The  indescribable  sadness  I  feel 

For  the  oppressed  and  suffering  millions, 

See  how  the  pains  of  each  man,  woman  and  child 

In  the  great  slave  markets  of  the  world 

Pierce  my  heart  and  leave  their  traces  there, 

How  their  woes  become  my  burdens, 

How  the  tragedies  of  their  pitiful  lives, 

Like  tumultuous  waves  o'erwhelm  me. 

How  the  cry  of  the  little  children 

Rings  through  the  corridors  of  my  soul 

And  reverberates  from  peak  to  peak, 

From  crag  to  crag,  and  up,  and  down  the  valleys 

Of  the  perdition  where  I  struggle  with  the  strugglers 

In  a  fierce  contest  for  existence, 

If  you  could  so  read,  you  would  at  least  not  hate  me. 

11 


Or  if  you  could  look  back  along  the  way  I've  come, 

See  the  awful  nights  of  pain  and  anguish, 

The  Calvarys  I've  climbed,  the  Gethsemanes  known, 

The  storms  I've  buffeted  and  battles  fought, 

See  the  suns  that  have  set  behind  mountains  of  despair, 

The  flowers  that  have  faded  and  fallen  from  my  hand, 

The  unmarked  graves  where  lie  my  buried  hopes, 

The  wrecks  and  ruins  of  the  castles  I  have  built, 

The  seas  where  my  ships  have  gone  down, 

The  conflagration  in  which  my  joys  were  consumed, 

You  would  know  me  better,  and  would  pity  me. 

Again,  if  you  could  stand  beside  me  today 

And  look,  with  me,  out  over  the  landscape  of  futurity, 

See,  as  I  do,  the  sun  rising  out  of  darkness 

To  light  a  glorious  and  eternal  day, 

The  flowers  bursting  into  beauty  and  bloom, 

The  resurrection  morn  of  my  buried  hopes, 

The  peaceful  ports  where  my  ships  lie  anchored, 

The  glittering  castles  that  tower  above 

The  ruins  of  my  former  ones, 

My  joys  that  leaped  unmarred  from  the  furious  flames, 

If  you  could  behold  the  bright  mountain  of  resolve 

Whereon  I  have  reared  an  altar  and  placed  myself 

A  living  sacrifice  to  human  good 

(Unselfishly,  if  unselfishness  to  mortal  be  possible) 

If  you  could  see  and  know  this  as  I  do, 

Feel  the  strong  motives  that  move  me, 

You  would  rejoice  with  me  in  fellowship  and  good  will, 

Clasp  my  hand  in  the  warm  friendship  I  crave, 

Press  me  to  your  bosom  in  sympathy  and  blessing, 

Give  me  that  which  I  am  freely  giving  you, 

And  for  which  I  so  much  long  from  you,  Love. 

12 


COSMIC  CONSCIOUSNESS. 

There  are  times  when  my  conquering  soul 

Feels  its  divine  mastership. 

When  I  put  all  obstacles  underneath  my  feet, 

And,  looking  far  out  o'er  life's  dominions 

See  clearly  the  meaning  and  majesty  of  all. 

And  in  that  hour  details  do  not  concern  me, 

But  with  one  swift  sweeping  glance 

I  see  and  understand. 

And  in  such  moments  what  to  me 

Are  earth's  trivial  disappointments, 

The  clamoring,  surging  sea  of  humanity 

That  tries,  and  fails  and  falls, 

The  sorrow,  suffering,  misery  and  death, 

That  blot  the  fair  face  of  nature 

And  seemingly  make  of  life  a  hideous  nightmare? 

Since  to  my  soul  is  revealed  in  that  quick  glance 

The  cosmic  life  complete  and  whole, 

And  I  know  that  all  things  tend  toward  the  good. 

That  what  appears  an  endless  chain  of  disasters 

Is  but  the  process  of  evolution 

That  lifts  all  life  to  higher  planes  of  consciousness. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS 


I  went  down  the  Valley  of  Shadows, 
Where  the  darkness  of  sickness  lay, 

The  sun  was  hid  by  the  mountains, 

And  I  thought  it  would  never  come  day. 

Thick  forests  and  marshy  swamplands 
Spread  'round  me  on  every  side, 

13 


Where  I  felt  as  if  venomous  reptiles 
In  dark  recesses  might  hide. 

But  is  this  all  I  saw  in  the  valley? 

Ah,  no !  Strange  lights  beamed  'round  me  oft  times, 
And   I   saw,   instead  of  this   region 

Most  healthful  and  beautiful  climes. 
The  lights  seemed  to  come  from  the  ocean 

Of  radiant,  infinite  light, 
And  for  a  few  moments  would  scatter 

The  clouds  of  that  terrible  night. 

And  in  that  Valley  of  Shadows 

I  found  I  was  never  alone, 
For  oft  when  the  way  was  darkest, 

My  loved  ones,  who  long  had  been  gone, 
Would  come  forth  out  of  the  stillness 

And  silently  walk  by  my  side. 
Wre  talked,  but  our  language  was  voiceless, 

As  thoughts  on  life's  limitless  tide. 

I  never  had  known  till  that  journey, 

Down  into  the  Valley  of  Death, 
Where  the  fever  gripped  my  vitals — 

Almost  stilled  my  heated  breath — 
How  close  they  lie  together, 

This  world  and  that  one  there ! 
How  the  shadows  that  darken  this  one 

Burst  forth  into  beauty  there! 

So  closely  lie  these  countries, 

And  so  nearly  are  they  one, 
That  when  I  walked  in  silence, 

That  vale  without  a  sun, 
My  kindred  souls  from  both  worlds 

14 


Most  sweet  communion  found 
As  they  worked  and  prayed  together 
On  one  common  meeting  ground. 

They  have  borne  me  from  the  Valley, 

On  the  golden  waves  of  Love, 
And  I  thank  my  blessed  angels — 

Those  on  earth  and  those  above — 
But  I  know  they  dwell  together 

Where  the  two  worlds  interblend, 
And  upon  love's  shining  ladder 

Everlastingly  ascend. 


LIBERTY 


O.  Liberty!  peace  crowned  and  beautiful, 

Fairest  goddess  conceived  by  mortal  mind, 

Or  fashioned  by  human  hand; 

Standing  where  the  waves  triumphant  lash  the  shore, 

Thy  light  doth  shine  on  sea  and  land  forevermore. 

Liberty,  fairest  gem  in  earth's  bright  galaxy! 
In  all  the  ages  men  have  dreamed  of  thee, 
And  longed  to  clasp  thee  in  a  close  embrace, 
But  ever  hast  thou  held  aloof  from  earth, 
Waiting  for  a  nobler  race  to  have  its  birth. 

O,  Goddess,  fair!  most  holy  and  prophetic 

Are  the  gleams  that  flash  and  stream 

From  the  torch  in  thy  majestic  hand; 

For  promises  are  they  that  thou  shalt  one  bright  da> 

Come  to  this  greed-cursed  land,  to  stay. 

15 


Blest  Liberty !  when  thou  shalt  reign  triumphant, 
Woman  and  man  shall  both  be  free — 
None  shall  e'er  more  bear  the  name  of  slave, 
And  this  the  land  of  freedom's  noble  fame, 
Shall  be  worthy  its  illustrious  name. 


GERTRUDE  AND  GERALDINE 


In  the  Springtime  of  my  life, 

While  yet  the  flush  of  girlhood  rouged  my  cheek, 

From  out  the  unfathomable  past 

You  came  forth  unto  me,  my  children,  dear. 

And  oh,  what  joy,  what  mystery 

Were  folded  up  within  your  babyhood ! 

Warm  and  soft,  and  precious  as  my  life, 

I  pressed  you  to  my  bosom  in  ecstatic  delight, 

Gertrude  and  Geraldine. 

And  every  day  since  then  I  have  thanked 
The  giver  of  all  good  things  for  you. 
Looking  through  the  mists  of  futurity 
He  must  have  seen  how  much  I  should  need  you ; 
For  in  the  strange,  changeful  life  I've  led 
You  two  have  stood  like  beacon  lights 
Upon  the  shore  of  my  earthly  existence, 
Gertrude  and  Geraldine. 

Or  like  angels  of  light,  I  have  beheld  you, 
Whose  fair  white  hands  have  reached  me, 
No  matter  where  I  have  wandered. 
Bereft  of  all  in  life  but  you,  dear  ones, 
I  have  lived  for  you,  worked  for  you, 
And  have  borne  you  each  day,  my  loves, 

16 


To  the  holy  shrine  of  thanksgiving  and  prayer, 
And  there  have  met  with  God, 
Gertrude  and  Geraldine. 

You  have  been  my  anchor  in  storm, 

My  light  in  darkness,  and  my  hope; 

My  comfort,  my  inspiration,  my  counselors  and  guides, 

Your  little  white  hands  pressed  into  mine, 

In  confidence,  love  and  trust, 

Have  taught  me  the  meaning  of  faith  and  trust  in  God, 

Gertrude  and  Geraldine. 


MEMORIES   AND   HOPE. 


I  watch  the  leaves  of  autumn 

As  slowly  down  they  fall, 
And  they  make  me  think  of  a  vanished  form 

Now  gone  beyond  recall. 

I  watch  the  Spring  day  flowers 

And  hear  the  bird  notes  sung, 
And  think  of  one  I  learned  to  love 

When  the  Spring  was  fair  and  young. 

I  walk  the  streets,  times  often 

Alone  'mid  the  busy  throng, 
And  peer  into  each  eager  face 

As  it  swiftly  moves  along; 

Aye,  scan  their  anxious  faces, 

I  know  not  hardly  why ; 
But  it  seems  as  if  I  might  see  him 

Among  the  passers-by. 

17 


Sometimes  in  field  or  woodland 

I  think  alone  to  roam, 
And  hold  communion  with  my  God 

Beneath  fair  Nature's  dome; 

But  with  the  swaying  breezes, 

And  the  brooklet's  murmuring  tone, 

There  comes  a  voice  that  seems  to  say, 
"Think  not  you  are  alone." 

Sometimes  I  watch  the  dancers 
As  they  move  to  music's  chime, 

And  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  face  most  dear, 
I  knew  in  a  former  time, 

That  sets  my  pulses  thrilling, 

And  dizzy  turns  my  head ; 
But,  then,  I  know  it  is  not  he, 

For  they  tell  me  he  is  dead. 

Yet  the  likeness  sets  me  thinking 

Of  a  ballroom  in  the  past, 
Where  we  whirled  through  the  mazy  dance 

In  bliss  too  sweet  to  last. 

To  church  sometimes  on  Sundays 

I  take  my  weary  way, 
To  hear  the  organ's  solemn  notes, 

And  with  the  people  pray; 

Then,  while  the  mighty  anthems 

Make  saddest  souls  rejoice  , 
I  listen,  for  it  seems  to  me 

I  hear  a  well  known  voice. 


18 


(Sometimes  around  the  old  hearthstone 
We  meet  at  Christmastide — 

The  brothers,  sisters,  parents,  all 
Now  scattered  far  and  wide, 

And  always  when  I  look  around 

Upon  that  circle  gay 
My  heart  aches  at  the'  vacant  seat 

By  me  on  Christmas  day. 

Sometime  I'll  cross  the  river, 
And  join  the  mig-hty  throng, 

And  help  them  sing  the  chorus 
In  accents  sweet  and  strong. 

And  when  the  organ's  pealing, 

My  soul  will  then  rejoice; 
For  I  shall  not  be  mistaken — 

I  know  I'll  hear  your  voice. 

And  sometime  over  yonder 
We'll  meet  at  Christmastide, 

The  children  and  the  parents 
And  loved  ones  true  and  tried; 

And  in  that  family  circle 

There'll  be  no  vacant  seat; 
No  hearts  will  then  be  aching, 

For  life  will  be  complete. 


ROBBIE  AND  JIM. 

It  was  Thanksgiving  Day  in  the  morning. 
The  ground  was  all  covered  with  sleet, 


19 


And  two  little  children  were  standing 
Half  clad  in  the  slippery  street. 

Their  faces  were  pinched  and  haggard  ; 
Their  figures  were  dwarfed  by  the  cold, 

And,  while  they  in  years  were  but  children, 
Each  visage  looked  careworn  and  old. 

"I  should  like  to  eat  dinner  in  that  house," 

Said  Robbie  to  poor  little  Jim, 
As  he  pointed  toward  a  grand  mansion 

With  a  finger  all  bony  and  slim; 
"I  know  they'll  have  turkey  and  good  things, 

'Cause  yesterday  evenin',  quite  late, 
I  saw  them  a-bringin'  the  things  in 

As  I  waited  beside  the  back  gate. 

"I  was  hungry  and  cold,  and  'twas  rainin', 

My  papers  hung  here  at  my  side, 
For  I  felt  too  tired  to  sell  'em, 

And  so  all  the  day  had  not  tried. 
A  lady  came  where  I  was  standin' 

And  told  me  to  run  on  away, 
But  I  said:  Tlease,  ma'am,  I'm  hungry; 

I've  had  nothing  to  eat  this  whole  day. 

"  'Oh,  will  you  not  give  me  a  penny 

To  buy  just  a  morsel  of  bread, 
For  there's  no  one  to  love  and  feed  me 

Since  dear,  pretty  mamma  is  dead?' 
But  she  said :  'Go  'long  away  with  you ! 

I've  nothing  for  beggars  tonight.' 
So  then  I  crept  home  and  found  you,  Jim, 

And  slept  till  the  broad  daylight."' 

"Robbie,"  spoke  Jim,  with  a  gesture, 
20 


"I  can  remember  quite  well 
When  papa  and  mamma  were  livin' 

We  had  things  awfully  swell ! 
We  lived  in  a  neat,  pretty  cottage 

Right  up  in  the  best  of  the  town, 
And  our  Thanksgivin'  dinner,  I  tell  you, 

Was  always  done  up  brown. 

"Then  my  papa  somehow  got  to  drinkin' 

And  soon  our  nice  dwellin'  was  gone, 
While  all  our  silver  and  jewelry 

My  mamma  had  to  pawn. 
One  night  they  came  carryin'  papa 

All  bleedin'  and  pale  from  a  wound. 
He  died  and  then  was  buried 

'Way  down  in  the  cold,  damp  ground. 

"Then  my  mamma  took  to  pinin', 

Or  that's  what  the  neighbors  said, 
And  one  morn  when  I  went  to  kiss  her 

She  was  dreadfully  pale;  yes,  dead! 
And  while  the  snowdrops  were  fallin' 

And  the  wind  was  a-goin'  oo,  oo! 
They  took  her  off  to  the  graveyard 

And  buried  her  away,  too. 

"Since  then  I've  been  sellin'  papers 

And  runnin'  on  errands  for  bread, 
But  many's  the  time,  dear  Robbie, 

I've  gone  hungry  and  cold  to  my  bed. 
And  I  was  so  lonely  at  night  time 

That  I  called  for  poor  mamma,  tho'  dead, 
Until  I  found  you  in  the  street  there 

And  asked, you  to  sleep  in  my  bed. 

21 


"Now,  just  see  here  what  I've  been  savin 

(Holding  out  a  purse,  greasy  and  slim) 
All  to  buy  a  Thanksgivin'  dinner 

For  poor  little  Robbie  and  Jim. 
Of  course,  they'll  have  turkey  and  good  things 

In  that  big,  fine  house  'cross  the  street, 
But  think,  we'll  have  salted  peanuts 

And  popcorn,  just  all  we  can  eat. 

"And  if  we  have  enough  money 

We'll  call  for  a  piece  of  mince  pie. 
Come,  Robbie,  and  let  us  be  goin'. 

Won't  that  be  a-livin'  high?" 
And  his  partner,  in  sickness  and  hunger, 

He  seized  and  hurried  away 
To  the  joys  so  long  anticipated, 

Of  a  dinner  on  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Now,  the  story  of  these  little  children 

Is  the  story  of  human  life — 
A  tale  of  troubles  and  heartaches, 

Of  struggles  in  earth's  weary  strife. 
The  woman  within  the  grand  mansion 

Represents  that  class,  who  today 
Oppress  and  defraud  the  masses, 

And  then  hypocritically  pray 

That  God  will  have  mercy  on  them ; 

And  save  them  from  Satan  and  Sin 
And  open  the  doors  of  His  kingdom 

To  let  the  poor  sufferers  in. 
But  the  Christ  lifted  up  the  fallen, 

And  healed  the  lame  and  the  blind, 
And  taught  the  wonderful  lessons 

Of  how  to  cure  body  and  mind. 

22 


He  reached  out  His  hand  to  the  children, 

Bidding-  them  to  be  happy  and  whole, 
And  said :  "Of  such  is  the  Kingdom 

Of  Heaven,"  the  infolded  soul. 
In  this  world  there  are  many  urchins 

Like  poor  little  Robbie  and  Jim, 
But  does  anyone  think  to  liken 

The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  to  them? 


THE  SOUL  KNOWETH  ITS   OWN 


I  knew  you  when  I  met  you — 

Recognized  your  soul-lit  face — 
And  the  form — tall,  straight  and  supple, 

With  its  slender,  manly  grace — 
Had  you  been  already  wedded 

By  ten  thousand  earthly  ties, 
Yet  my  soul  would  hold  and  claim  you 

For  its  own  in  paradise. 

As  the  maiden  by  the  seaside 

Looks  out  o'er  the  tossing  main 
For  the  longed-for  ship's  returning 

That  would  bring  her  loved  again, 
So  I've  looked  across  life's  desert — 

'Cross  its  surging,  restless  sea 
For  the  ship  of  sea  or  desert 

That  would  bring  my  own  to  me. 

In  my  dreams  I've  stood  beside  you 
On  the  sun-kissed  hills  of  life, 

Left  all  earthly  cares  behind  me, 
All  the  world's  unfriendly  strife, 

23 


And  our  souls  have  interblended 

In  a  sweet,  entrancing  bliss ! 
In  a  union  blessed  by  angels, 

''In  one  grand  eternal  kiss." 

Today  my  soul's  prophetic  vision 

Scans  the  realms  of  time  and  space, 
And  I  know  that  way  out  yonder 

I  shall  meet  you  face  to  face; 
That  you'll  know  me  at  that  meeting, 

By  the  joys  of  other  days, 
When  we  roamed  in  bliss  together 

Through  the  long  Olamic  days. 

Lonely  through   earth   life  I've  wondered, 

And  I  thought  you  had  not  come 
Down  from  those  bright  field  Elysian, 

Through  this  saddened  life  to  roam; 
And  my  heart  had  grown  so  senseless 

To  the  pleading  tone  of  love, 
That  I  feared  it  ne'er  would  waken 

Tho'  you  called  me  from  above. 

But,  ah,  me !  when  first  I  saw  you 

How  my  heart  stood  still  with  joy! 
And  I  realized  the  power 

Of  a  love  time  can't  destroy. 
Then  I  knew  my  soul  was  chastened 

By  the  mighty  fires  of  love ; 
That  God's  hand  had  sealed  our  union 

At  an  altar  high  above. 

In  the  grand  eternal  future 

You  shall  know  me  as  your  own, 
And  may  read  the  runic  record 

24 


When  your  cares  away  are  thrown, 
Of  two  lives  in  one  life  blended 

By  the  mighty  powers  that  be, 
And  you'll  love  me,  aye,  and  call  me, 

As  my  soul  calleth  now  for  thee. 

Out  o'er  hill  and  dale  and  mountain, 

Steals  my  soul  away  tonight, 
Seeking  through  the  mists  and  shadows, 

Through  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
For  its  own,  for  thee,  beloved, 

Since  no  force  hath  power  to  keep 
Soul  from  unto  soul  low  calling, 

"Deep  from  answering  unto  deep." 

All  the  sounds  of  sweet,  sad  music, 

That  so  oft  my  soul  o'erflow, 
Are  the  memories  of  the  age-long 

Life  with  you,  where  radiant  glow 
Gems  of  purest  thought  and  music 

'Mongst  the  scenes  of  angel  land 
Where  we'll  wander  yet,  my  darling 

Heart  to  heart  and  hand  in  hand. 


THE  WAYFARER'S  QUERY. 


O,  what  is  the  meaning  of  life, 
With  its  endless  routine  of  strife, 
Its  hopes  and  fears, 
Disappointments  and  tears, 
O,  what  is  the  meaning  of  life? 

The  soul,  how  it  sighs  and  sings! 
25 


Like  a  harp  of  ten  thousand  strings, 

Like  the  moan  of  the  sea, 

Or  the  rain  on  the  lea, 

The  saddest  of  all  sad  things. 

How  we  long  always  to  be  glad, 

Yet  oftenest  we  are  sad ; 

For  the  joys  that  we  crave 

We  are  given  a  grave 

With  its  heap  of  fresh  dirt  and  a  slab. 

And,  O,  how  we  long  for  love ! 
The  completeness  of  life  to  prove; 
How  we  stretch  our  hands 
'Cross  the  weary  lands 
For  the  freedom  of  carrier  dove. 

Then  tell  me,  O  sage,  if  you  can, 

The  why  of  life's  intricate  plan. 

The  sensitive  soul, 

O,  its  mysteries  unroll; 

Explain  them,  O  sage,  if  you  can. 


A  PICTURE  OR  FARM  LIFE 


I  can  never  quite  get  over 

Bein'  raised  upon  a  farm, 
And  around  that  old  log  farm   house 

There  lingers  many  a  charm; 
So  when  the  days  get  shorter, 

And  a  chill  is  in  the  air, 
I  kinder  have  a  longin' 

And  a  wishin'  I  was  there. 


26 


I  can  ne'er  forget  my  father 

When  we  lived  on  the  farm, 
And  I  trudged  to  the  school  house — 

(That  school  house  has  a  charm). 
How,  when  the  day  was  rainy, 

Or  it  snowed,  I'd  see  'im  come 
A-gallopin'  on  Jacob, 

Our  horse,  to  take  me  home. 

Then  when  the  day  was  ended, 
And  the  teacher  turned  us  out, 
We'd  grab  our  shawls  and  buckets, 

Play  tag,  and  sing  and  shout, 
Until  I'd  hear  my  father 

Say:  " Laura,  come,  let's  go." 
Then  with  me  up  behind  him 

We'd  go  boundin'  o'er  the  snow. 

And  when  the  horse  went  faster, 

My  father'd  reach  his  arm 
Right  back  and  hold  me  to  'im 

All  the  way  out  to  the  farm, 
And  ne'er  have  I  felt  safer 

From  fallin'  or  from  harm, 
Than  when  my  father  held  me 

With  his  strong  and  lovin'  arm. 

And  then  those  winter  evenin's — 
The  supper  and  the  games; 
The  marks  made  in  the  ashes, 

And  called  our  sweetheart's  names 
The  tales  told  'round  the  fireside, 

The  apples  thawin'  there, 
The  crackin'  nuts  and  laughter, 

Are  remembrances  most  dear. 


27 


The  Springtime  with  its  flowers, 

Its  openin'  buds  and  trees. 
The  Summer  with  its  wheatfields, 

Its  clover  and  its  bees; 
And  then  the  Autumn  golden, 

When  apple,  peach  and  pear 
Hung  temptingly  above  us 

In  abundance  rich  and  rare. 

These,  and  a  thousand  others, 

Are  the  blessin'  and  the  charms 
That  meet  and  greet  the  children, 

Who  are  reared  upon  the  farms. 
They're  healthy  and  they're  happy, 

Their  cheeks  are  full  and  pink ; 
Their  minds  are  strong  and  active; 

They  have  the  power  to  think. 

No,  I  never  can  get  over 

Bein'  raised  upon  a  farm ; 
And,  if  I  had  it  in  my  power — 

I'm  sure  'twould  do  no  harm — 
I'd  gather  all  poor  children 

Who  in  cities  now  reside, 
And  o'er  this  broad,  fair  country 

Would  scatter  far  and  wide. 

I'd  take  these  millions  acres 

And  turn  'em  into  farms, 
With  houses  neat  and  roomy, 

With  horses,  sheds  and  barns, 
With  implements  for  farmin', 

And  men  to  till  the  land, 
That  all  who  lived  upon  'em 

Great  plenty  could  command. 

28 


Then  all  the  sufrerin'  millions, 

Of  homeless  and  distressed, 
Now  crowded  in  large  cities, 

Pale,  sickly  and  oppressed  ; 
I'd  snatch  from  out  those  hovels 

Where  hopelessly  they  dwell 
To  fill  these  homes  of  comfort 

And  happiness  compel. 

'T would  do  me  good  to  see  'em 

Standin'  out  among  the  trees, 
Where  the  bobolinks  were  singin', 

Where  they'd  feel  the  balmy  breeze ; 
Where  the  sun  could  shine  upon  'em, 

And  each  day  bring  forth  its  charm. 
Oh,  there's  nothin'  else  like  growin' 

Up  from  childhood  on  the  farm. 

Whether  in  the  cot  or  palace, 

Wheresoe'er  my  footsteps  roam, 
'Mid  life's  scenes  of  joy  or  sorrow, 

Comes  a  memory  of  that  home, 
And  I  know  when  these  reflections 

Bring  their  sweet  and  sacred  charm, 
I  can  never  quite  get  over 

Bein'  raised  upon  a  farm. 


LOVE 


O,  Love,  divine,  from  portals  high, 

Descend  on  us  this  day; 
Light  up  our  pathway  here  below 


29 


With  thy  transcendent  ray; 
Baptize  us  with  the  rainbow  hues 

That  bathe  fair  Heaven's  dome, 
And  wreathe  thy  richest  garlands  round 

Our  country  and  our  home. 

For  what  were  life  without 

Thy  sweet,  entrancing,  soothing  balm. 
What  else  but  thee  could  compensate 

The  soul  for  griefs  that  come, 
And  storms  that  sweep  in  maddening  rage 

Our  trembling  being  o'er, 
Leaving  the  wreckage  tossed  and  strewn 

Upon  a  barren  shore? 

For  when  the  soul  is  tempest  tossed, 

Amid  the  breakers'  roar, 
'Tis  Love  points  out  the  beacon  lights 

Along  the  distant  shore. 
Love  whispers  hope,  "Hope  sees  a  star," 

E'en  when  the  mist  hang  low 
And  casts  the  sunshine  on  the  cloud 

Where  smiles  the  welcome  bow. 

And  "listening  Love"  hath  caught  the  sound 

Of  angels'  rustling  wings, 
And  looks  across  the  chasm  of  death, 

Beyond  earth's  troublous  things, 
And  sees  again  the  golden  chain 

Of  sympathy  sublime," 
Binding  in  one  all  kindred  souls, 

Eternity  and  time. 

For  height,  nor  depth,  nor  space,  nor  time, 
Nor  any  powers  that  be, 

30 


Can  separate  the  souls  that  love, 

Or  keep  thine  own  from  thee. 
Amid  the  eternal  ways  we  stand 

Where  tempests  fret  and  moan, 
But  e'en  through  death  or  what  may  come, 
•  The  soul  shall  claim  its  own. 


MY  CASTLE 


I  built  a  castle,  grand  and  fair, 
Whose  turrets  gleamed  high  in  the  air. 
Then  fancy  on  her  shining  wings 
Bore  me  away  in  search  of  things 
With  which  to  decorate  its  walls, 
And  folks  to  promenade  its  halls. 
I  brought  all  that  I  held  most  dear 
My  sad  and  lonely  heart  to  cheer, 
Placed  him  I  loved  upon  its  throne, 
And  called  it  all  my  very  own. 

One  night  there  came  an  awful  gale, 
While  we,  all  trembling,  scared  and  pale, 
Knelt  down  and  tried  to  pray  and  trust 
In  God,  and  perish  if  we  must. 
And  when  'twas  o'er,  my  house,  I  found, 
Was  torn  and  tumbled  to  the  ground; 
My  idols  all  had  found  a  tomb 
Beneath  its  ruin,  wreck  and  gloom. 

"Mourn  not  thy  castle  in  the  air," 
A  voice  spoke  from  I  know  not  where. 
"Its  walls  were  frail  and  could  not  stand 
The  storms  that  blow  o'er  this  strange  land. 

31 


Take  up  the  burden  at  thy  door, 
Toil  on  and  count  thyself  not  poor, 
And  when  thou  comest  to  yon  bright  hill 
Rapture  and  joy  thy  soul  shall  fill." 

I  said  then  I  shall  cease  to  build, 
Be  passive  where  before  I've  willed, 
And  let  supernal  love  suggest 
That  which  for  me  will  be  best. 
O,  God !  I  cannot  stand  alone ! 
There's  nothing  that  is  all  my  own, 
I'm  part  of  one  great  Over  Soul 
Who  doth  my  destiny  control. 

Then  lo !  upon  a  hill-crest  bright, 
Loomed  a  castle  grand  and  white, 
And  the  voice  spoke  gently  as  before, 
•Saying:  "This  shall  stand  forevermore. 
Its  marble  walls  and  chambers  vast 
Were  fashioned  in  the  eternal  past, 
And  all  that  round  thy  soul  doth  cling, 
To  this  fair  temple  thou  shalt  bring. 
The  house  of  air,  see  why  it  fell? 
That  thou  shonldst  come  to  this  to  dwell.' 


MEDITATION 


I  know  that  as  long  as  I  live 

In  this  land  where  the  teardrops  flow, 
That  angels  will  hold  my  hand 

32 


In  my  wanderings  to  and  fro— 
That  no  day  can  be  so  dark 

But  a  light  on  me  will  fall ; 
No  night  so  full  of  pain 

But  that  love  will  sweeten  all. 


Though  the  road  be  strewn  with  thorns, 

Over  which  my  feet  must  tread, 
And  the  goal  of  my  earthly  life 

Seems  the  earning  of  daily  bread ; 
Yet  the  thorns  will  wither  away, 

And  roses  for  me  will  bloom, 
And  above  earth's  sordid  gains 

The  goal  of  my  quest  shall  loom. 

Earth  has  no  sorrow  so  great 

As  to  crush  me  with  utter  despair; 
No  burden  it  can  impose 

That  I  am  unable  to  bear; 
For  I  know  that  my  bark  must  touch 

Every  dark  or  shimmering  shore — 
Must  learn  to  anchor  safe, 

Be  calm  'mid  the  breakers'  roar. 

And  e'en  when  I  tread  the  vale, 

Where  death  leads  down  to  the  grave, 
With  joy  I  shall  hail  that  day, 

And  palms  of  victory  wave; 
For  I  know  that  the  tides  of  life 

On  a  fairer  shore  will  break 
When  I  lay  this  body  down 

An  immortal  one  to  take. 


33 


TO  GERTRUDE. 


You  are  gone  from  my  sight 

Blessed  child  of  my  youth, 

And  my  soul  weeps  on  Calvary's  Hill, 

While  I  sigh  mid  the  clouds 

And  the  blackness  of  night, 

For  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still. 

First  born  of  my  love 

Fare  you  well,  fare  you  well ! 

How  can  I  live  on  without  you 

When  your  sweet  angel  presence 

God  lent  from  above 

No  more  in  this  world  I  shall  know. 

It  seemed  all  a  dream 

When  I  stood  by  your  bier 

And  beheld  your  pale  beautiful  face, 

Your  hands  like  white  marble 

So  shapely  and  fair, 

At  rest  in  their  maidenly  grace. 

That  mayhap  I  should  wake 

To  find  you  still  here 

The  terrible  nightmare  forgot; 

But  alas !  'twas  not  dreaming. 

My  heart  seems  to  break 

While  I  wait  for  a  form  that  comes  not. 

Not  the  grief  of  despair 

Do  I  feel ;  for  I  know 

That  my  darling  one  is  not  dead — 

That  she's  only  arisen 

34 


Transcendently  fair 

Like  a  bride  to  her  love  to  be  wed. 

O  would  I  could  see 
You  today,  blessed  one, 
Embraced  by  an  ocean  of  love, 
Happy  and  free  in  the  realm  of  song, 
Where  your  soul  longed  to  be, 
In  your  home  far  above. 

Not  one  drop  of  bliss 

Do  I  grudge  you,  dear  child, 

In  the  plains  your  soul  loves  the  best 

Nor  would  I  recall  you 

Again  unto  this 

Where  you  were  so  often  distressed. 

But  sometimes,  dear  child, 

When  my  spirit  grows  calm, 

And  the  shadows  of  twilight  descend, 

O  may  you  not  waft  me 

A  message  of  love, 

Surcease  of  my  sorrow  to  lend? 


TRUSTING 


When  winds  and  waves  are  raging 

Through  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  my  bark  seems  most  unlikely 

To  stem  the  powerful  gale, 
I  drop  my  oars,  am  quiet, 

And  say :  Let  come  what  will, 
All  safe  in  the  arms  Infinite, 

I  know  I  am  resting  still. 

35 


E'en  though  my  boat  is  stranded, 

And  the  wild  waves  dash  me  o'er, 
I  yet  shall  make  my  moorings 

Upon  some  other  shore ; 
Or  if  the  worlds  should  crumble, 

And  back  to  chaos  fall, 
Serene,  unhurt,  undaunted, 

I  would  triumph  over  all. 

No  matter  where  I  wander — 

On  desert-land,  or  sea, 
Or  out  and  on  for  ages, 

In  the  blue  immensity — 
I  shall  not  be  lost  nor  injured, 

For  the  Father's  hand  will  guide, 
And  within  the  love  unfailing, 

I  shall  evermore  abide. 

For  since  I'm  part  and  parcel 

Of  the  great  Eternal  Whole, 
I'd  as  soon  think  God  could  perish 

As  that  I  could  lose  my  soul ; 
Or  that  height  or  depth  or  distance, 

Or  any  powers  that  be, 
Could  intercept  the  current 

That  bears  my  own  to  me. 

The  hand  that  guides  the  wild  bird 

Through  trackless  seas  of  air 
To  fields  in  sunny  Southlands, 

With  matchless  skill  and  care, 
I  know  will  guide  my  footsteps 

In  paths  my  feet  should  tread ; 
In  the  only  royal  highway 

I  know  I  shall  be  led. 


36 


I  AM. 

I  am  from  everlasting  to  everlasting, 
Always  was  and  ever  shall  be, 
When  the  morning  stars  sang  together 
And  the  worlds  sailed  forth  in  glee 
I  was  present,  beheld  their  creation, 
I !  boundless,  eternal  and  free ! 

I  am  the  truth  all  embracing, 
I  am  all  that  was,  is,  or  can  be, 
I  am  the  fount  of  all  knowledge, 
The  universe  in  epitome, 
I  am,  my  friend,  what  you  are, 
And  you  are  undoubtedly  me. 

And  this  is  the  reason,  my  brother, 
Your  sorrow  pierces  my  soul 
As  we  journey  and  struggle  together 
Where  the  wheels  of  experience  roll, 
And  we  get  not  a  perfect  perception 
Of  the  truth  and  the  path  to  our  goal. 

So  rise  in  your  majesty,  brother! 
Stand  up  and  claim  your  own. 
Why  feed  on  husks  any  longer, 
Why  wander  sad  and  alone, 
For  you  are  the  truth  all  sufficient 
And  all  that  there  is,  is  your  own. 

I'll  arise  and  go  to  my  Father, 
His  richest  robes  I'll  don, 
In  His  house  I'll  rest  and  feast  me 
While  the  gladsome  years  roll  on. 
Mine  is  His  boundless  kingdom, 
For  the  Father  and  I  are  one. 


37 


Poems  of  the  Revolution 


THE  DAWN  IN  THE  EAST. 


0  "Darkest  Russia" !  through  thy  fading  gloom 

1  see  the  red  splendor  of  the  new  day  dawn. 
While  o'er  all  the  world  the  black 

Angel  of  death  and  destruction 

Has  spread  his  wings,  and  ugly  vultures 

Jostle  each  other  in  their  mad  scramble  for  prey, 

And  while  the  people,  horror  stricken, 

Wait  in  mute  despair  for  the  worst  to  come, 

I  search  the  heavens  and  earth 

For  one  ray  of  hope  or  joy, 

And  find  it,  O  Russia,  in  thee. 

Like  the  Aurora  Borealis 

The  light  of  thy  revolution 

Blazes  up  over  the  northern  sky; 

And,  in  mysterious  manner, 

Piercing  the  darkness  of  night 

Sends  its  radiant  beams  to  the  uttermost 

Parts  of  the  earth. 

In  thy  determination  to  stand 

For  Industrial  Freedom 

Even  tho'  the  armies  of  imperialism 

Thunder  at  thy  gates  and  invade 

Thy  borders,  thou  hast  stirred 

The  spirit  of  hope  and  admiration 

In  the  breast  of  the  toilers  of  all  lands. 

And  as  the  Armageddon  draws  nearer, 

38 


And  the  gloom  of  the  nations  thickens, 

We  turn  our  eyes  to  the  north, 

And  watch  for  the  rosy  hues 

To  penetrate  and  scatter  the  night. 

Down  all  the  stretch  of  history 

To  the  present  time  there  has  been 

No  such  spectacle !     Millions  have 

Fought  and  died  for  freedom  so  called, 

But  never  so  many  millions 

Of  the  oppressed  working  men  and  women 

At  any  time,  in  any  land, 

Have  thrown  off  their  shackles, 

And  defied  the  ruling  class 

With  all  its  military  strength 

To  put  them  down,  or  force  them  to  retreat. 

O,  Russia !  land  of  the  knout,  the  dungeon  and 

Siberia 

May  the  "Holy  War"  make  possible 
The  realization  of  thy  dream. 
To  arms  !   To  arms  !   Ye  people. 
Thine  is  a  righteous  cause; 
And  neither  Hun,  nor  Jap, 
Nor  all  the  Turks  of  Turkey,  can  prevail 
Against  Thee  when  thou  shalt  rise 
In  the  might  and  majesty 
Of  thy  awakened  millions. 
And  what  is  it  thou  dost  demand? 
Only  that  all  shall  be  free 
To  work,  to  live,  to  love,  and  enjoy 
The  fruits  of  their  labor. 
That  the  land,  and  all  of  those  things 
Necessary  to  the  common  weal 
Shall  be  free.    That  no  man  shall  be 
Slave  to  another ;  but  that  all 
Shall  have  equal  opportunity  for 

39 


The  fullest  expression  of  the  true  self. 

That  human  plants  in  the  garden  of  God 

Shall  never  more  be  deprived  of  the 

Elements  necessary  to  their  perfect  growth. 

Thou  hast  thy  quarrel  just,  Dear  Russia, 

Now  dark  no  more ;  for  thou  art  emancipated 

From  slavery,  and  nothing  else  matters. 

Thou  wilt  find  a  way  to  victory  o'er  thy  foes. 

In  my  imagination  I  can  see  the  spirits 

Of  the  millions  who  have  died  in  exile 

Or  under  the  bloody  lash  along 

The  corpse  strewn  road  to  Siberia. 

Rise  and  gather  to  battle  with  those 

Who  now  struggle  to  be  free. 

O,  that  the  "Holy  War"  may  spread 

To  all  nations  and  wipe  forever  from 

The  face  of  the  earth,  Capitalism, 

With  its  profiteering,  its  prisons, 

Its  slums,  its  poverty,  its  war  and  woe. 


THE  BOLSHEVIKI. 


All  hail  to  thee!  Bolsheviki, 

Ye  sons  of  toil,  all  hail ! 

You  are  on  the  track,  you  can't  turn  back, 

You  are  right,  you  cannot  fail. 

Oh  Red  Guards  brave,  you  have  come  to  save 

The  world,  and  make  men  free 

From  the  "Iron  Heel".    Let  tyrants  feel 

Your  power  for  liberty. 

I  pray  for  thee,  Bolsheviki — 
Sons  of  a  land  oppressed — 

40 


You  rise  at  last  from  an  awful  past 

And  start  on  your  noble  quest. 

May  your  haughty  foe  be  forced  to  go ! 

Let  him  bow  to  your  sovereign  will. 

If  he  would  be  fed  let  him  earn  his  bread, 

Would  he  live  let  him  pay  the  bill. 

May  old  things  pass,  and  the  working  class 

Take  charge  of  the  earth,  most  fair, 

The  strong  arm  of  might  be  coupled  with  righ't 

In  Russia  and  everywhere. 

May  your  armies  be  blest  till  that  class  is  suppressed 

Who  have  held  you  in  slavery's  thrall — 

Till  their  voices  are  hushed,  their  authority  crushed 

And  freedom's  flag  waves  over  all. 

Then  success  to  thee !  Bolsheviki, 

And  Red  Guards  true  and  brave — 

You  are  pointing  the  way  to  a  better  day 

To  the  freedom  of  the  slave. 

O  that  my  eyes  may  behold  the  rise 

Of  the  great  majority 

In  every  land  to  take  their  stand 

For  God  and  humanity. 


The  following  poem  was  written  and  published 
two  years  before  the  great  war  began,  and  while  the 
world  was  practically  at  peace. 

A  VISION. 


On  the  heights  of  the  world,  where  its  flags  unfurled 
Gave  token  of  prowess  and  might, 
I  stood  to  behold  a  scene  unfold, 

41 


A  solemn  and  awful  sight: 

The  thunders  of  war  sounded  near  and  far, 

And  the  storm-cloud  hovered  low, 

The  eagles  screamed,  and  the  war-knife  gleamed 

Athwart  the  reddening  glow. 

For  the  time  had  come  for  the  fife  and  drum 
To  call  the  millions  forth, 
More  power  to  bring  to  Mammon,  the  King, 
Through  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
On  they  came,  in  His  glorious  name, 
The  ranks  of  the  uniformed  braves, 
They  fought  and  died,  or  were  crucified, 
And  slept  in  forgotten  graves. 

The  King  and  Czar  looked  on  from  afar, 

And  Emperors  and  Presidents, 

From  safe  retreats,  in  their  lofty  seats, 

Looked  down  on  the  battlements, 

While  counsellors,  wise,  watched  the  fall  and  rise 

Of  the  struggling,  battling  throng, 

The  gain  or  loss  of  their  monied  boss, 

Their  country !  right  or  wrong. 

The  armies  grew,  and  the  missiles  flew, 

And  rivers  of  blood  ran  deep ; 

Such  carnage  and  hate  the  Devil  would  sate, 

Or  make  the  angels  weep ; 

But  Mammon  is  bold,  and  his  heart  is  cold, 

And  Shylock  must  have  his  pound, 

So  there  is  no  peace,  but  the  wars  increase 

Till  they  reach  the  whole  world  'round. 

But  hark !  Arise !  There's  a  light  in  the  skies, 
And  an  army  stands  out  on  the  field ; 

42 


They  carry  no  gun,  nor  march,  nor  run, 

But,  like  iron,  they  will  not  yield. 

'Tis  the  Labor  band,  who  now  command 

That  war  shall  be  no  more ; 

The  king,  accursed,  shall  lie  in  the  dust, 

His  reign  of  terror  o'er. 

"They  feed  the  world,  they  clothe  the  world," 

These  women  and  children  and  men ; 

They  furnish  their  sons,  and  fashion  the  guns, 

Ere  a  battle  can  begin. 

They  pull  the  train,  and  plough  the  main, 

Bearing  death  'neath  their  sinewy  hands, 

Transporting  troops  in  battle-sloops 

O'er  the  seas  to  many  lands. 

And  the  victory,  for  whom  shall  it  be? 

Will  it  free  the  serfs  and  slaves 

When  the  boys  from  the  mass  of  the  working-class 

Are  sleeping  in  soldiers'  graves? 

Ah,  no !  they  fight  not  for  the  right 

Of  their  own  class  to  enjoy 

The  fruit  of  their  toil,  but  over  spoil 

Where  vultures  black  shall  prey. 

Then,  down  with  the  flags,  those  fluttering  rags, 

The  emblems  of  plunder  and  greed, 

For      a  banner,  unfurled,  shall  cover  the  world, 

And  the  millions  shall  be  freed! 

Thus  Labor  spoke,  and  the  battle-smoke 

Of  the  centuries  cleared  away, 

The  war-drum  ceased,  and  the  slaves,  released, 

Walked  forth  to  the  light  of  day. 

43 


RESTITUTION  AND  RETRIBUTION. 


"O,  masters,  Lords,  and  rulers  in  all  lands" 
What  will  you  do  on  that  tomorrow 
When  the  "Dumb  Terror"  shall  arise 
And  confront  you  with  your  record, 
Calling  you  to  account  for  your  stewardship. 
What  explanation  can  you  make 
To  that  innumerable  company 
Of  disinherited  children  of  toil 
When  they  turn  upon  you,  and 
Demand  restitution  at  your  hands? 

How  will  you  account  to  them 

For  the  lands  you  have  stolen  from  them 

And  held  out  of  use,  while  they, 

Landless,  and  homeless,  were  forced 

To  pay  you  with  their  heart's  blood, 

Rents  for  enough  of  the  earth 

On  which  to  produce  your  living  and  theirs? 

What  legal  technicality  will  you  present 

When  they  demand  that  you  relinquish 

The  land,  their  birthright,  and 

The  wealth  they  have  created 

Even  to  the  last  farthing? 

Will  there  be  any  argument  when 

The  Red  Guards  and  Bolsheviki 

Of  the  world  have  their  hands  at  your  throat? 

Not  as  now  will  it  be,  a  disarmed, 

Disorganized  proletariat 

Facing  the  military  powers 

Of  a  haughty,  slave  driving  class — 

But  an  aroused,  united  working  class — 

44 


Those  who  wield  the  implements  of  labor 
Joined  with  their  brothers  who  carry  the  guns — 
Soldiers'  and  Workmen's  Councils 
Whose  deliberations  shall  guide  the  world — 
What  will  you  have  to  say  to  them? 

You  will  have  nothing  to  say ! 

You  will  restore  the  world  to  the  people 

Not  because  you  want  to  do  so 

But  because  you  will  have  it  to  do. 

And  when  that  day  comes,  and 

The  earth  is  shaken  from  center  to  circumference 

With  the  tread  of  the  victorious  hosts, 

And  you  feel  the  earthquake  shocks 

In  the  valley  of  dry  bones  of  Capitalism, 

You  will  call  for  the  rocks  and  mountains 

To  hide  you  from  the  face  of  him 

Wrho  sitteth  upon  the  throne — Labor! 

And  you  will  have  no  power  over  Him 

For  he  feeds,  clothes,  and  shelters  the  world. 

You  will  either  march  under  his  banner 

And  become  one  with  him  or  starve. 

Parasites  cannot  enter  his  kingdom, 

At  last  he  is  awake,  and  knows  his  strength, 

And  when  he  lays  his  mighty  hand 

.Upon  the  rusty  locks  and  iron  bars 

Of  your  prisons,  wrenching  away 

The  last  barrier  that  confines  humans 

In  a  living  tomb,  setting  your  captives  free, 

And  when  your  dens  of  thieves  are  broken  down, 

Your  courts  of  injustice  abolished, 

Your  rotten  parliaments  dissolved, 

Your  satanic  business  schemes  for  robbing 

Labor  and  each  other,  forever  at  an  end 

45 


What  will  there  be  for  you,  What  will  you  do? 

Yes,  you  will  make  restitution  to  the  poor, 

But  you  cannot  heal  the  wounds  you  have  made 

Nor  undo  the  wrongs  you  have  done. 

You  cannot  give  back  the  lives  lost 

In  your  wars  for  greed  and  gold, 

Nor  repair  the  bent  and  broken  bodies 

Of  those  who  have  toiled  to  make  you  profits. 

Behold  the  stunted,  misshapen  human  race ! 

The  starved  degenerate  wrecks 

Upon  the  sea  of  life! 

For  these  you  are  responsible, 

Look  at  them  and  answer! 

What  will  you  do? 


AN  APPEAL  TO  THE  PROLETARIAT. 


Arouse  from  your  slumbers,  ye  vagrants ! 
Look  up  from  your  labor,  O  slave! 
A  world  in  distress  and  destruction 
Implores  you  its  children  to  save. 
Adown  all  the  blood-crimsoned  ages 
You've  been  beaten,  and  robbed,  and  ignored; 
To  those  who  waxed  fat  from  your  labor 
You  were  cattle — the  rabble — the  horde. 

And  when,  from  the  beasts'  thickest  jungle, 

Where  greed  fought  fiercest  for  prey, 

And  the  grim,  ghastly  demon  of  hunger 

Stalked  abroad  through  the  land  night  and  day, 

You  have  started  the  fires  of  rebellion, 

Declared  for  freedom  and  right, 

The  powerful  mailed  fist  of  the  masters 

46 


Has  crushed  you  with  pitiless  might. 

You  have  languished  in  horrible  prisons, 

You  have  died  on  Siberia's  plains, 

On  your  bones  rest  the  thrones  of  the  kingdoms, 

Your  blood  every  altar  stains; 

Like  sheep,  you've  been  led  to  the  slaughter, 

And,  childlike,  you've  wept  and  obeyed, 

Because  you  believed  you  were  helpless, 

And  of  gods,  kings  and  priests  were  afraid. 

And  the  world  swung  'round  in  its  orbit, 

Hastening  on  to  a  terrible  fall 

Of  the  Lords,  who,  wining  and  feasting, 

Saw  not  the  hand  on  the  wall. 

It  has  come — the  end  of  their  power — 

Their  kingdoms  in  pieces  shall  lie ; 

In  the  war  they  have  spread  o'er  the  nations 

They  themselves  shall  perish  and  die. 

So  the  world  turns  to  you  for  salvation, 
Ye  toilers,  ye  erstwhile  despised, 
For  you  hold  the  key  to  the  kingdoms, 
Though  this  you  have  not  realized; 
You  furnish  the  fatness  of  tyrants, 
You  fashion  the  sword  and  the  gun, 
You  can  say  to  the  hordes  of  destruction : 
"The  work  of  King  Mammon  is  done." 

O  stand  in  your  ranks,  men  and  women, 
A  phalanx  unbroken  and  true — 
Humanity  groans  and  travails, 
Its  deliverance  depends  upon  you. 
You  have  nourished  a  monster  to  sting  you, 
Now  build  you  a  system  sublime, 
Where  no  ruler  nor  robber  can  harbor 
Through  the  years  of  the  future  time! 

47 


THE  DEATH  IN  THE  COTTAGE. 


I  passed  by  the  door  of  a  cottage 

Where  a  woman  lay  dying,  they  said, 
Of  a  fever  brought  on  by  starvation 

While  not  able  to  work  for  her  bread. 
Three  children  sat  weeping  beside  her — 

Pale,  pinched  little  faces  they  bore, 
And  tatters  and  rags,  soiled  and  grimy, 

Were  the  clothing  the  little  ones  wore. 

'Tis  said  that  grim  Death,  the  much-dreaded, 

Comes  alike  to  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
That  all  with  his  gloom  is  enshrouded 

Wherever  he  enters  the  door; 
But  wealth  robes  its  corpse  in  fine  raiment, 

And  ladens  with  flowers  the  rich  tomb, 
While  poverty  wraps  a  coarse  mantle 

And  buries  wherever  there's  room. 

A  few  people  stopped  by  the  doorway, 

And  looked  on  the  sorrowful  scene, 
With  grief  tugging  hard  at  their  heartstrings, 

For  all  are  not  hardened  and  mean, 
And  some  seemed  anxious  to  aid  her 

As  stifled  and  short  grew  her  breath. 
Ah,  how  we  are  touched  and  softened 

In  the  terrible  presence  of  death ! 

I  thought  as  I  looked  and  pondered, 
This  last  and  most  pitiful  scene, 

In  the  miserable  life  of  a  woman, 
Of  all  that  it  really  did  mean. 

It  means  there  are  hundreds,  aye,  thousands, 

48 


No  matter  how  much  they  may  try, 
Who  cannot  afford  here  a  being, 
Neither  can  they  afford  to  die. 

Not  able  to  work,  they  told  me; 

Belonged  to  no  order,  she'd  said; 
Not  able  to  pay  the  dues  monthly, 

And  the  husband  and  father  was  dead. 
The  groceryman  and  the  landlord 

Had  worried  her  with  their  bills 
Until  she  had  grown  unconscious, 

For  this  is  the  brief  that  kills. 

Oh,  where  will  they  lay  her  poor  body? 

Who'll  plant  a  sweet  flower  on  her  grave, 
And  who  will  reach  out  a  hand  kindly 

Her  three  little  children  to  save? 
O,  God !  if  it  be  that  the  angels 

O'er  the  earth  their  kind  vigils  keep, 
Methinks  that  such  scenes  by  them  witnessed 

Would  cause  even  angels  to  weep. 

How  long,  O,  how  long,  I  do  wonder, 

Will  a  system  so  foul  still  obtain, 
That  makes  him  or  her  the  earth's  chosen 

Who  only  full  coffers  can  gain  ; 
That  gives  to  the  few  all  the  houses, 

The  silver,  the  gold  and  the  lands, 
And  turns  out  the  millions  as  paupers, 

To  sink  in  life's  awful  quicksands? 

A  system  that's  founded  on  hatred, 
That  makes  every  brother  a  foe; 

And  kindles  the  fires  of  hell's  kingdom 
In  this  beautiful  world  below; 

49 


That  leaves  to  starvation  a  sister, 
Like  her  of  whom  we  have  said, 
Lay  dying  within  a  poor  cottage, 
'   While  her  children  were  famished  for  bread? 


A  WOMAN'S  PRAYER 


A  woman,  pale,  at  close  of  day, 
Knelt  where  a  dying  baby  lay. 
And  prayed  to  God  to  spare  her  child 
From  hunger's  torture,  fierce  and  wild. 
O,  Christ,  Thou  who  didst  love  the  poor, 
Come  near,  I  pray,  my  humble  door! 
Thou  who  didst  make  the  water  wine, 
From  fish  and  loaf  bid  thousands  dine, 
Give  bread  this  day  to  me  and  mine! 

For  days  and  days  my  weary  feet 

Have  trudged  about  from  street  to  street, 

Where  I  have  begged  for  work,  not  bread, 

Until  my  heart  sank  down  like  lead, 

And  oft  I  wished  that  I  were  dead. 

A  hundred  times  the  angry  frown 

Of  employer  has  cast  me  down, 

And  empty-handed,  sick  and  sore, 

I've  sought  again  my  hovel  door. 

I've  seen  my  children,  once  so  hale, 
From  want  of  food  grow  thin  and  pale. 
And  now,  as  fades  the  waning  light, 
My  darling's  soul  goes  home  tonight. 
O,  God!  is  it  for  this  we're  born, 
To  tread  the  winepress,  sad,  forlorn, 

50 


And  in  a  land  of  greed  and  gold, 
(Starve  as  the  felons  did  of  old? 

There  is  no  famine  in  the  land ; 
Vast  riches  from  Thy  loving  hand 
Are  poured  out  lavishly  each  day, 
Yet  he  must  want  who  cannot  pay. 
Pay  who?  Not  Thee,  O,  Lord,  not  Thee. 
Are  not  Thy  bounties,  full  and  free? 
Pay  those  who  claim  the  land  and  gold, 
While  millions  of  Thy  children  slave 
Or  beg  for  that  Thou  freely  gave. 

They  say  this  is  a  Christian  land, 
And  church  spires  rise  up  tall  and  grand, 
While  hosts  of  people  meet  to  pray, 
And  praise  Thee  every  Sabbath  day. 
Yet  e'en  within  the  sacred  shade 
Of  chapel  dome  dire  want  is  laid 
With  vise-like  grip  on  youth  and  age 
Until  we  find  our  printed  page 
Becomes  a  record  sheet  of  crime, 
Despite  Thy  life  and  words  sublime. 

O,  God !  if  it  be  true  that  right 
Shall  triumph  and  at  last  make  might, 
Then  let  earth's  wrongs  be  swept  away, 
And  righteousness  shine  in  like  day. 
Forbid  that  ere  the  sun  should  rise 
On  starving  babes  and  weeping  eyes, 
Where  mothers,  bent  with  aching  head, 
Beg  for  a  chance  to  toil  for  bread, 
While  greed  shuts  up  his  shiveled  soul, 
And  takes  the  world  in  full  control. 


51 


Thus  Christian  mothers  kneel  and  pray, 
While  misery  gnaws  the  heart  away, 
And  travesties  on  Christian  love 
Make  angels  weep  who  watch  above. 
But  lift  your  eyes,  O,  child  of  earth ! 
For  righteousness  shall  soon  have  birth, 
And  nature  from  her  thousand  hills 
Shall  yield  a  balm  for  human  ills ; 
With  gentle  speech  she'll  check  each  sigh, 
And  wipe  the  tears  from  every  eye; 
Soothe  every  pain,  drive  out  all  care, 
And  answer  every  heartfelt  prayer. 


AS  IT  SHALL  BE. 


The  scepter  and  crown  shall  rust, 

The  great  shall  be  fallen  low, 

The  sword  and  gun,  their  work  well  done, 

To  the  melting  pot  shall  go, 

And  fashioned  anew  shall  serve 

Some  purpose  of  peace  and  love; 

While  low  on  the  air  like  an  angel  fair 

Shall  hover  the  snow  white  dove. 

No  menial  shall  weep  and  moil 
Nor  to  master  bow  the  knee, 
For  human  skill  and  human  will 
Shall  set  the  wage  slaves  free. 
All  boundaries  that  divide 
Nation,  tribe  or  clan 
We  soon  will  find  are  in  the  mind 
Only  of  foolish  man. 

52 


No  prison  for  men  shall  yawn 

Nor  gallows  cast  its  pall — 

The  weird  refrain  of  the  ball  and  chain 

And  bolts  and  bars,  and  all 

That  go  to  make  for  the  living  hell 

Where  victims  are  done  to  death, 

Shall  pass  from  earth  at  its  glad  new  birth 

Like  vapors  of  poison  breath. 

No  woman  a  pawn  shall  be 

Nor  tramp  the  highway  tread, 

No  children  cry,  and  pine  and  die 

For  the  want  of  air  and  bread. 

The  crowded  tenement, 

Landlord  and  money  king, 

Shall  fade  from  sight  like  clouds  of  night 

When  the  birds  of  morning  sing. 

O,  toiling  hosts  be  glad ! 

Your  emancipation  I  see; 

The  time  is  at  hand  in  every  land 

When  all  men  shall  be  free. 

No  worship  of  Father-land, 

No  faction,  creed  or  clan, 

But  power  and  place  for  the  human  race — 

The  BROTHERHOOD  OF  MAN. 


WHAT  THE  ANGEL  SAW. 


An  angel  came  down  from  heaven 
And  stood  on  the  sea  and  land, 
Where  the  nation's  trade  and  traffic 
Observant  on  every  hand 

53 


Bartered  the  souls  of  people 

Though  Christian  they  thought  and  free. 

"How  is  this?"  said  the  angel, 

"But  wait,  I  will  go  and  see." 

He  went  to  a  populous  city, 

And  stood  by  a  factory  gate. 

The  air  was  cold  and  piercing, 

The  hour  was  dark  and  late, 

When  forth  came  an  army  of  children, 

A  pale,  pinched,  hungry  throng, 

With  bodies  bent  and  suffering 

From  labors  hard  and  long. 

Next  day  down  in  the  coal  mines 

He  watched  the  children  toil, 

And  in  cotton  mill,  department  store, 

And  at  tilling  of  the  soil, 

Aye!  one  tremendous  army 

Of  patient  little  slaves 

Who  march  through  filth  and  hunger 

To  fill  their  pauper  graves. 

Then  the  angel  turned  from  looking, 
And  said,  as  the  teardrops  fell, 
"Of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
Ye  have  made  them  the  servants  of  hell. 
The  Father  hath  care  for  the  raven 
And  pities  the  sparrow's  fall, 
Can  it  be  He  forgets  His  children 
And  leaves  them  to  slavery's  thrall?" 

Then  he  went  where  the  people  were  crowded, 
In  loathsome,  dark  tenements, 
Where  thousands  were  daily  evicted 

54 


For  the  crime  of  non-payment  of  rents. 

He  saw  the  millions  toiling, 

And  starving  for  a  crust 

While  the  few  are  gorged  with  plenty 

And  in  idle  pleasure  rust. 

He  saw  the  costly  mansion 
And  the  hovel,  side  by  side, 
The  working  people  walking 
While  the  rich  in  splendor  ride. 
He  saw  the  mouldy  prisons 
Where  the  innocent  were  bound 
While  free  to  rule  and  ruin 
The  fiendish  ones  were  found. 

"Why  is  it,"  said  the  angel, 

"That  they  who  wealth  create, 

Who  plant  the  vineyards,  build  the  homes, 

Must  face  such  awful  fate 

While  they  who  do  not  labor 

Possess,  inherit,  rule. 

'Twould  seem  a  plan  satanic 

Or  the  bungling  of  a  fool. 

"I've  heard  sometimes  in  heaven 
Of  a  place  where  the  wicked  dwell, 
It  must  be  I  have  found  it, 
For  surely  this  is  hell. 
By  a  system  most  pernicious 
King  Mammon  keeps  the  throne, 
And  when  the  people  ask  for  bread 
They  give  to  them  a  stone. 

The  few  own  all  the  factories, 
The  railroads,  mines  and  lands, 

55 


While  the  many  beg  to  labor 

And  wait  with  empty  hands; 

And  the  mills  whose  ceaseless  turning, 

Whose  moaning  never  ends, 

Grinds  women,  men  and  children 

To  the  mighty  dividends. 

'Tear  down  their  thrones  and  altars," 
Saith  God,  they  shall  not  stand! 
The  stench  of  murdered  thousands 
From  them  pollutes  the  land. 
The  cries  of  little  children, 
The  moans  of  the  sad  and  poor, 
The  tears  of  the  toiling  millions 
Have  doomed  them  ever  more. 

"With  whirlwinds  of  rebellion 
I  will  shake  their  kingdom  down, 
Not  one  stone  upon  another 
In  that  day  shall  be  found. 
I'll  restore  unto  the  people 
The  Earth  to  have  and  hold 
Free  from  the  tyrant  masters 
Whose  highest  god  is  gold." 


THE  HOBO 


The  sun  hung  low  o'er  the  mountains 

Tinting  each  rugged  crest, 

And  painting  in  golden  glory 

The  bending  skies  of  the  West; 

When  dark,  like  a  speck  on  the  landscape, 

56 


With  his  blankets  across  his  back 
Came  a  worn  and  weary  hobo 
Down  the  dusty  railroad  track. 

By  the  curve  of  the  road  at  nightfall 
Where  the  stars  above  glimmer,  and  peep, 
Through  a  curtain  of  leaves  and  grasses, 
He  laid  him  down  to  sleep ; 
And  he  thought  as  the  song  of  the  night  bird 
Soothed  his  tired  and  troubled  mind; 
There's  room  in  this  world  and  plenty 
For  all  except  me  and  my  kind. 

He  slept,  and  lived  in  dreamland 
Where  love  spread  her  splendid  wings, 
And  bore  him  from  old  surroundings, 
To  a  better  scheme  of  things. 
He  dwelt  in  a  cosy  cottage 
With  flowers  blooming  'round  the  door 
Where  all  was  wealth  and  gladness — 
There  were  no  tramps,  no  poor. 

A  sweetheart  wife  beside  him 

Made  him  of  all  men  blest, 

While  the  wee  curly  head  of  their  darling 

Nestled  close  to  his  manly  breast; 

And  there  were  great  things  to  be  doing — 

The  best  that  was  in  him  he  gave 

To  a  world  with  no  soldiers,  no  shackles, 

No  prisons,  no  master  or  slave. 

O,  woe !  to  a  world  whose  workers 

Are  cast  like  chaff  to  the  wind 

When  the  lords  can  not  use  them  for  profit 

Must  go  seeking,  but  cannot  find. 

57 


O !  cursed  be  the  system  forever 

That  robs  human  life  of  a  home, 

And  sends  young  and  old  to  the  highway 

In  quest  of  a  living  to  roam. 

But  why  will  you  die,  Ye  toilers, 

You  have  the  power  and  the  might 

To  wrest  from  the  cravens  who  hold  them 

Your  bread,  your  freedom,  your  right. 

O  rise!  in  your  infinite  numbers 

Unite  on  the  sea  and  the  land, 

Let  tyrants  implore  you  for  mercy 

Take  the  reins  of  the  world  in  your  hands. 


THE  INDUSTRIAL  WORKERS  OF  THE 
WORLD. 


I  stood  by  a  city  prison, 

In  the  twilight's  deepening  gloom, 

Where  men  and  women  languished 

In  a  loathsome,  living  tomb. 

They  were  singing!  And  their  voices 

Seemed  to  weave  a  wreath  of  light, 

As  the  words  came  clear  with  meaning 

"Workers  of  the  World,  unite !" 

As  it  was  with  Gallileo, 

And  all  thinkers  of  the  past, 

So  with  these  Industrial  Workers, 

Tyrants'  shackles  hold  them  fast. 

58 


In  the  bastiles  of  the  nations, 

They  are  bludgeoned,  mugged  and  starved, 

While  upon  their  aching  bodies 

Prints  of  whips  and  clubs  are  carved. 

Yet  with  spirit  still  unbroken 
And  with  hope  for  future  years 
They  are  calling  to  their  fellows : 
"Come,  arise!  and  dry  your  tears. 
Wake,  ye  toilers,  get  in  action, 
Break  your  bonds,  exert  your  might — 
You  can  make  this  hell  a  heaven, 
Workers  of  the  World,  unite !" 

Hail !  ye  brave  Industrial  Workers, 
Vanguard  of  the  coming  day, 
When  labor's  hosts  shall  cease  their  cringing 
And  shall  dash  their  chains  away. 
How  the  masters  dread  you,  hate  you, 
Their  uncompromising  foe; 
For  they  see  in  you  a  menace. 
Threatening  soon  their  overthrow. 

Hark!  ye  masters,  lords  and  rulers, 
With  the  cruel  iron  hand ; 
Labor  built  your  thrones  and  altars, 
Made  the  wealth  you  now  command; 
And  some  day  she'll  wrest  it  from  you, 
Break  your  scaffolds,  burn  your  jails, 
Sink  your  warships,  kill  your  soldiers, 
To  the  music  of  your  wails. 

59 


THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOL 


By  the  curve  of  the  road  fringed  and  narrow 
Half  embowered  by  the  green  forest  leaves 
Stands  a  school  house  serene,  and  secluded 
With  birds  building  under  the  eaves. 
As  I  lingered  awhile  in  reflection 
There  came  such  a  rush  and  a  shout 
Of  healthy,  happy  youngsters ! 
Twas  "Four"  and  school  was  out. 

And  I  saw  standing  there  in  the  doorway 

A  young  girl,  slender,  and  fair, 

With  eyes  like  the  blue  of  the  twilight 

And  a  wealth  of  raven  hair. 

The  children  all  clustered  about  her 

Each  one  with  a  cheerful  good  night, 

While  the  love  between  teacher  and  pupil 

Beamed  forth  from  their  faces  so  bright. 

O,  the  tender,  true  love  of  childhood ! 

Little  lady  bear  this  in  mind : 

As  you  journey  on  life's  rough  pathway 

No  truer  friends  you  Avill  find. 

And  the  lessons  you  now  are  imparting, 

And  the  bent  to  their  character  give 

Will  become  a  part  of  their  being 

And  remain  with  them  while  they  shall  live. 

O,  little  white  schools  in  the  country 

Half  hid  by  verdure  and  hills, 

Your  pure  minded  teachers  and  pupils 

My  heart  with  reverence  fills. 

You  are  the  center  and  seat  of  learning 

60 


Far  away  from  all  scenes  of  strife; 
Your  graduates  fill  high  stations 
In  all  of  the  walks  of  life. 

I  greet  you,  fair  girl,  noble  teacher 

Of  this  little  white  country  school — 

May  your  influence  strengthen  the  children 

Who  heed  now  your  word  and  your  rule. 

Be  thankful  today  you  are  useful, 

That  your  lot  has  been  cast  among  men 

And  women  of  honest  intentions — 

Far  away  from  the  city's  mad  din. 


61 


Songs 


BABY  DONALD 

Oh,  Baby  Don,  since  thou  hast  spoken 

From  out  the  mists,  from  out  the  gloom, 
The  dismal  spell  of  death  is  broken 

And  golden  sunshine  gilds  the  tomb. 
Oh,  how  I've  hungered  broken-hearted, 
^  How  searched  the  space  with  weary  eyes, 
Since  by  your  little  grave  we  parted, 
For  a  message  from  beyond  the  skies. 

I  saw  your  blue  eyes  closed  forever, 

Your  pulseless  hands  clasped  on  your  breast, 
To  thrill  with  life  again,  no,  never, 

And  saw  you  laid  to  rest,  to  rest. 
How  your  child-like,  perfect  beauty, 

Pained  my  overburdened  heart, 
As  I  saw  it  lowered  earthward, 

Back  to  clay  saw  it  depart. 

But  I'm  sure  my  baby  liveth, 

I've  heard  him  speak.     I've  seen  his  face. 
I  know  that  God  the  Father  giveth 

Each  of  His  little  lambs  a  place. 
I  know  that  this  world  simply  fadeth 

Out  into  that  which  lies  beyond — 
Beyond  the  mists,  where  there  awaiteth 

All  those  of  whom  we  are  so  fond. 

62 


MY  CHURCH 


My  church  embraces  all 

Of  this  great  pulsing  world. 

Every  color,  race  and  tribe, 

Bond  and  free,  rich  and  poor  alike, 

Are  welcome  at  its  shrine. 

Its  altars  fair  are  human  hearts, 

From  whose  sacred  fires  of  love 

Holy  incense  eternally  ascends. 

Its  priest  is  the  inner  self  or  soul 

That  speaks  face  to  face  with  God, 

Its  holy  place  wher'er  you  chance  to  be 

On  sea  or  land,  in  palace  grand  or  cot 

Its  baptismal  fount  the  mighty  sea  of  love 

Whose  waters  must  immerse  each  soul 

Else  it  cannot  be  redeemed. 


SCHOOL  MEMORIES 


'Mong  Missouri's  rugged  Ozarks 

Stands  a  school  house  mean  and  old, 
Where  the  leaves  in  mild  October 

Turn  to  scarlet,  brown  and  gold. 
During  months  of  fall  and  winter 

Many  children  gathered  there — 
Boys  with  hearts  both  brave  and  loyal, 

Girls  with  faces  fond  and  fair. 

Chorus — 

O,  those  days  so  bright  and  fair ! 
How  my  thoughts  still  linger  there, 

63 


While  on  memory's  page  I  trace 
One  sweet,  tender,  girlish  face. 

When  I  played  or  when  I  studied, 

Sweet  brown  eyes  looked  into  mine, 
Though  my  boyish  heart  was  wayward, 

Yet  I  worship  at  her  shrine. 
O,  the  thrill  that  stirred  my  being, 

As  with  looks  so  swift  and  sly, 
'Cross  the  room  when  others  saw  not, 

Flashed  love's  glance  from  eye  to  eye. 

Years  have  passed,  and  leaves  are  falling 

On  the  old  playground  today, 
But  a  face  and  form  have  vanished 

From  those  hills  and  dells  away, 
For  the  angels  took  my  darling 

Where  sweet  love  is  law  and  rule, 
And  she  now  recites  her  lessons 

In  a  higher,  better  school. 

In  Spirit  Land  she  waits  for  me, 
Where  angels  flutter  glad  and  free, 
Time  nor  change  can  e'er  efface 
The  memory  of  her  loving  face. 


NEVER  ALONE 


I'm  never  alone  by  day  nor  by  night, 
For  ever  around  me  are  angels  of  light, 
They  brighten  my  pathway  and  teach  me  to  do 
The  work  of  the  noble,  the  good  and  the  true. 

64 


Chorus — 

Never  alone ;  no,  never  alone ; 
Though  my  pillow  may  be  of  down  or  of  stone, 
In  my  dreams  come  sweet  visions  of  faces  so  fair, 
And  palaces  grand  of  my  home  over  there. 

Though  the  days  may  be  darkened  by  sorrow  and  pain, 
I  know  that  the  sun  will  shine  soon  again, 
For  no  day  is  so  dark  but  they  whisper  to  me 
Of  light  just  beyond,  that  my  eyes  cannot  see. 

Chorus — Never  alone,  etc. 

They  remove  from  my  path  every  thistle  and  thorn, 
And  with  beautiful  flowers  my  pathway  adorn; 
They  walk  by  my  side  with  love's  banner  unfurled, 
As  I  journey  along  through  this  sorrowful  world. 

Chorus — Never  alone,  etc. 


MY  FLOWERET 


In  the  cold,  damp  earth  we  laid  him, 

And  left  him  there  alone, 
While  the  winds  that  swept  the  prairies 

Did  moan,  and  moan,  and  moan ; 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely 

Like  the  floweret  and  the  leaf, 
Or  the  rainbow  tinted  morning 

Should  have  a  life  so  brief. 

And  as  I  turned  me  homeward 
My  heart  was  sick  and  sore, 
For  I  thought  a  flower  had  faded 

65 


To  bloom,  no,  nevermore ; 
And  the  wind  among  the  branches 

Sang  this  requiem  o'er  and  o'er: 
"Thou  art  gone,  art  gone,  my  darling; 

I  shall  see  thee  nevermore." 

But  an  angel  softly  whispered : 

"Thy  darling  is  not  dead, 
Nor  in  the  far-off  mansions, 

But  with  thee  now  instead." 
And  my  faint  heart  caught  the  whisper, 

And  it  stayed  the  troubled  tide, 
For  I  knew  my  sainted  baby 

Was  standing  by  my  side. 

That  the  flower  so  early  gathered 

Bloomed  on  another  plain, 
And  what  had  been  our  own  loss 

Was  his  eternal  gain ; 
That  the  floweret  was  transplanted 

On  the  bright  celestial  shore, 
To  grow  and  bloom  in  beauty 

In  God's  garden  evermore. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SOUL 


I'm  told  of  a  country  just  over  the  sea, 

A  land  of  perennial  bloom 
Where  the  soul  from  all  sorrow  and  pain  shall  be  free, 

Beyond  the  dark  shades  of  the  tomb. 
Where  the  wayworn  of  earth  may  stay  and}  take  rest, 

Where  the  traveler  will  reach  his  goal, 

66 


The  city  of  light  in  the  land  of  the  blest, 
The  Jerusalem  of  the  soul. 

Chorus — 

I  cannot  say  if  these  things  be  true, 
Mine  eyes  have  not  seen  them,  I  own, 

But  something  within  ever  whispers  to  me 
Of  joys  beyond  what  I  have  known. 

I'm  told  of  a  Father  of  infinite  love 

Who  knows  me  and  answers  my  prayer, 
And  that  I  can  never,  no,  not  if  I  would, 

Drift  out  and  away  from  His  care  ; 
That  He  notices  even  the  sparrow's  fall, 

And  hears  the  young  raven's  cry; 
That  nothing  is  lost  to  this  Infinite  All — 

Not  even  a  tear  or  a  sigh. 

Chorus — 

I  cannot  say  if  these  things  be  true ; 

Mine  eyes  have  not  seen  Him,  I  own, 
But  my  soul  reaches  up  to  the  fountain  of  life 

For  joys  beyond  what  I  have  known. 

And  so  I  just  rest  in  the  happy  belief 

That  somehow,  sometime  and  some  place, 
My  craving  of  soul  will  be  satisfied, 

Though  I  never  behold  His  face. 
Then  let  me  come  unto  His  house  and  be  clothed, 

And  drink  of  His  rich  flowing  bowl, 
Oh  let  me  sit  down  at  the  banquet  with  Him, 

And  feed  my  poor  famishing  soul. 

67 


LINES  TO  LENA 


An  August  flower  that  blossoms 

Among  the  Ozark  hills 
Of  Missouri,  with  her  song  birds, 

Her  waving  trees  and  rills — 
A  flower  of  wondrous  beauty 

That  ever  since  its  birth 
Hath  scattered  fragrant  perfume 

To  purify  the  earth. 


WHITE  ROSE 


When  the  roses  were  in  bloom 

In  the  fragrant  month  of  June, 

A  little  angel  came  to  bless  our  home 

With  its  baby  smiles  and  graces 

It  dwelt  in  love's  embraces 

While  the  days  passed  sweetly,  gently, 

With  no  gloom. 

From  the  beautiful  bye  and  bye 

Where  the  roses  never  die 

This  laughing,  bright-eyed 

Cherub  seemed  to  fall 

And  from  that  land  supernal 

Did  bring  God's  love  eternal 

And  showered  like  bright 

Sunshine  on  us  all. 

O,  her  face  grew  wondrous  fair 

With  its  crown  of  golden  hair, 

And  her  eyes  were  like  the  skies  of  azure  blue 

68 


How  her  smiles  our  hearts  did  lighten, 

How  her  life  our  home  did  brighten ; 

But  she  faded  like  the  roses  of  the  June. 

When  the  roses  were  in  bloom 

We  laid  her  in  the  tomb 

And  we  heard  the  clods  fall 

Heavy  o'er  her  head, 

And  our  hearts  were  wrung  with  sorrow 

On  that  day  and  on  the  morrow 

How  we  missed  her,  but  we  knew 

She  was  not  dead. 

Grieved  we  were  as  day  by  day 

We  watched  her  fade  away 

Gently  passing  from  our  watchful  tender  care; 

Who  could  then  refrain  from  weeping 

Tho'  she  passed  to  angel's  keeping 

To  that  land  where  all  of  life 

Is  bright  and  fair? 

In  the  beautiful  bye  and  bye 

Where  the  roses  never  die, 

And  we'll  never  lay  our  darlings  in  the  tomb, 

We  know  some  day  we'll  meet  her 

And  with  raptured  souls  shall  greet  her 

Where  the  days  pass  sweetly, 

Gently,  with  no  gloom. 


69 


Photom 


ount 


Binder 

Gaylord  Bros,  Inc. 


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